(I work for a large water park that has a ride which involves a jump off a 25 foot cliff and a Tarzan rope swing. On these rides, we have a series of questions we legally must ask.)

Me: “Are you a good swimmer?”

Guest: “Huh?”

Me: “Are you a good swimmer?”

Guest: “Oh…uh…yeah, of course.”

Me: “Any head, neck, or back injuries?”

Guest:*indignant* “Would I be standing here if I did? No injuries!”

Me: “Any history of heart problems?”

Guest: “Nope.”

Me: “Any shoulder dislocations?”

Guest:*rolls shoulders* “No, I’m good.”

Me: “Okay, no flipping or diving. Grab this rope, and you’re good to go…”

(The guest proceeds to swing out over water and falls off almost instantly. I look down and see him struggling to stay afloat, so my coworker jumps in and leads him to the ladder. I close off the ride to fill out a report for the save.)

Me:*to coworker* “What happened?!”

Coworker: “I don’t exactly know. He says his shoulder hurts.”

Me: “Sir, have you ever had a dislocated shoulder?”

Guest: “Yes, why do you ask?”

Me: “Because when I asked you before, you said no, and now you hurt it. Also, was it because of your shoulder that you were having trouble swimming?”

Guest: “No. I just can’t swim.”

Me: “So, when I asked if you were a good swimmer, why did you say yes?”

(Our shop sells a lot of space-themed items, including a good deal of Star Wars merchandise. I am approached by two guys in their early 20s.)

Guy #1: “Excuse me, miss, but we’re about to get kicked out of your store.”

Me: “For what?”

Guy #2: “Lightsaber fighting!”

(They turn to a Star Wars display, each take a lightsaber off the rack, and spend a second figuring out how to turn them on. Right away, I duck behind the registers and return with two open lightsabers we have behind the counter from returns.)

Me: “Here, try some without the packaging.”

Guy #1: “SWEET!”

(They activate the lightsabers and proceed to have a high-energy duel in the middle of the shop, to the amusement of my coworkers and the other customers. When one wins, they deactivate and hand the lightsabers back to me.)

Guy #2: “Best. Store. Ever.”

(They left without buying anything, but with huge smiles on their faces!)

(I’ve been at work for 8 hours and am finishing the last bit of the late-evening rush. A husband, wife, and their 6-year-old daughter come through the line with several items, one of which is a bike.)

Husband: “Can you split these between a couple cards?”

Me: “Of course. What amount would you like?”

Wife: “This’ll be food stamps. One minute…”

(The husband and wife stare at the card reader and babble between themselves which way to turn the card and what their pin is. I try to help several times, only to be scolded, so I remain quiet. As I wait, I start looking around randomly and eventually glance in the general direction of their daughter.)

6-year-old Daughter: “The f*** you starin’ at, b****?!”

Me:*shocked* “I’m sorry, I wasn’t…I didn’t mean…if you bring the bike over here, I can ring it up once your parents are finished—”

6-year-old Daughter: “The f*** you say to me?!”

Me: “Well, unless you paid for it in the back, in which case you’ll want to have your receipt out at the door since they’ll check larger purchases. It’s a pain, I know, but it’s just store policy—”

6-year-old Daughter: “F*** you, f***ing racist b****! Y’all are racist! You is nothin’ more than a lil’ racist c*** askin’ me that s***! F*** you, you f***er! I ain’t got to do s***!”

(The daughter screams for a few more minutes, carrying off the bike. Meanwhile, her parents finish with their groceries, apparently oblivious to their daughter’s behavior. The daughter continues to make obscene gestures and screams obscenities at me all the way out the door, being sure to also yell at the store’s door greeter.)

Next Customer: “Morons…”

Me:*immediately burst into tears*

Next Customer: “Do you run into this often?”

Me:*nodding* “M-more than i-is strictly n-necessary.”

Next Customer: “Really? You’re too smart to be dealing with a**holes of that degree. I’d quit. Seriously, f*** that!”